


Cut My Feelings to the Bone

by tryslora



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Claiming, Collars, Community: homebrewbingo, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Scent Marking, Were-Creatures
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-17
Updated: 2012-09-17
Packaged: 2017-11-14 10:07:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/514093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tryslora/pseuds/tryslora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All Jackson has ever wanted is to belong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cut My Feelings to the Bone

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers for season 2 end. Also, this is absolutely unbetaed, so all errors (grammar, canon, or otherwise) are entirely mine all mine.
> 
> This was written in part for the "claiming or establishing ownership" prompt used for a wildcard square in homebrew bingo.
> 
> Teen Wolf and its characters are not owned by me; I just like to write new things for them to do.

All Jackson has ever wanted is to belong.

He has never felt as if he belonged in his family. He is adopted; he should feel more wanted than any other child, but his parents seem to have chosen him as an infant and then forgotten him amidst their own lives and squabbles. He is a star on the lacrosse team, one of the most popular boys in school. Still, Jackson feels alone in the crowd.

Now he is a part of Derek Hale’s pack, which is exactly what he wanted to be. But his path to becoming a werewolf was convoluted, interrupted by becoming the kanima instead, and for a time he was the enemy of everyone he calls pack now. They look at him as if he is an interloper, and he feels like one.

All he wants is to belong, and instead he is sure that they want to get rid of him. Push him out of the pack. Leave him floundering on the edge of the pool, gasping for air after drowning.

So Jackson does the only thing he feels he can do: he acts as if he is already a member of the pack. He acts as if they all love him, as if they all adore him. This is how he earned his popularity in school. _Fake it until you make it_ was his life motto. It will work now.

It has to work now.

#

“What are you doing here?”

Derek’s voice is a growl, low and menacing, but not angry. Irritated. Jackson can hear the difference in the tone now, as subtle as it is. And Jackson knows that one wrong word could tip that scale, push Derek into the hot fresh scent of anger. 

So Jackson shrugs, looking around, keeping his hands shoved down into his pockets. “This place is a mess,” he points out. “We can’t live here.”

Derek takes two steps forward, right into Jackson’s face, so close he can feel the breath washing over his skin. Jackson breathes in as Derek breathes out, tasting warmth and spice. Jackson keeps that smile pasted on, small and thin, superior in every way, as if Derek isn’t an Alpha ( _his_ Alpha) and able to rip him apart.

“You don’t live here,” Derek reminds him, voice low and rough. “I haven’t decided what to do with you yet.”

“I’m part of your pack.”

“ _Not yet_.” The words are underlined by a growl that Jackson feels shiver through him to the bone. 

His Alpha says no. His Alpha gives him an order. It takes every bit of strength inside of Jackson to shake his head and refuse. “You made me,” Jackson says, stepping closer as if to push Derek back. But Derek doesn’t go anywhere, and they are nose to nose, breathing in each other’s scents. Jackson feels a growl rise, hears the low rumble matched by Derek. Feels it slide over his skin, slipping beneath until his breath shudders. “I’m yours,” Jackson says firmly. “You made me, and I’m yours.”

Derek turns away, stalking to the other side of the burned out hull of a home. “No one lives here. You have a home, Jackson. Go to it. Sleep in your mansion. Sleep in your car for all I care. _You don’t live here_.”

“You do.” Jackson looks around, taking in where the place is burnt and where it can be saved. “You’re my Alpha, and I’m going to fix this place for you.”

“Get out.”

A moment later Jackson sits in his car, wondering how he got there. He remembers the words but doesn’t remember leaving, doesn’t remember anything until he is sitting there, hands on the steering wheel, the car rumbling to life. He punches the steering wheel, feels the burn of healing in his hand immediately after.

He wants to go back inside, but he can’t make his feet move. Derek ordered him gone, and Jackson must go.

This time.

He’ll be back.

#

The next time, Derek finds him in the basement, a sponge in his hand and a bucket of dirty water sitting nearby on the floor. Jackson scrubs the walls, taking off soot and years of dirt to find dingy paint beneath. Finished basement or dungeon, it’s hard to tell what this place is meant to be anymore. But it seems more solid than the floor above, and Jackson thinks that in a week or so he can make it habitable.

“What are you doing here?” Derek stands glaring at him, looming in the doorway.

Jackson glances at him, and lowers his gaze almost immediately. Anger flows off of Derek, hot and spicy, kicking Jackson in the gut. He resists the urge to lie down, baring throat and belly in a purely submissive move. “Cleaning,” he says, keeping his composure pulled in around him like armor. “This place is a pit.”

“This place is a burned out shell,” Derek counters. “Ruins. I like it like that.”

“No, you don’t.” Because Jackson can taste the lie in Derek’s scent. He turns back to the wall, scrubbing roughly. The paint revealed is beige, a neutral shade of nothing, but it isn’t black anymore. And it doesn’t stink like burnt flesh. Jackson’s nostrils flare; this place is rank, and he is only a new wolf, not born to it like Derek. “How do you stand to breathe in this place?” he asks.

Jackson is twisted, shoved back against the wall so hard his head hits and he sees stars. Derek’s body presses into him, holding him there, mouth at his throat, teeth clamping down over his skin. The growl is low, something Jackson can feel with the entirety of his body, and he reacts by going absolutely limp in his Alpha’s grasp. Submissive.

Derek’s breath shudders in and out in low, rough gasps. His teeth tighten, and Jackson whimpers at the feel. Jackson tilts his head to the side, baring the soft flesh of his throat, giving himself to his Alpha.

They stand like that for what seems like hours, and when Derek finally lets Jackson’s throat go with a growl, Jackson’s body is quivering, his groin tight and aching. He is thankful that Derek doesn’t seem to notice. A hand is pressed to Jackson’s throat, pinning him against the wall and making it hard to breathe.

“We don’t talk about the fire,” Derek growls softly. “And you don’t live here. I don’t want to smell your scent here again, Jackson.”

“I’m part of your pack.”

No answer. Derek doesn’t confirm it, but he doesn’t deny Jackson either. And Jackson realizes that he hasn’t seen Boyd here recently. Not Boyd, not Erica, not Isaac. He frowns. “Where is your pack?”

Derek’s mouth thins, lips pressed together. “I got a house,” he says slowly. He almost seems reluctant as he gives Jackson the address.

Jackson is not included, but he is not pushed away. It is the best he will get from Derek right now.

As Derek walks away, leaving Jackson with his bucket of water and a sponge that was dropped on the floor, Jackson has to wonder: if Derek Hale has another house, why does he keep returning here?

What is Derek Hale looking for? And can Jackson find it for him, and buy his place in the pack?

#

“I think I might be gay.” Jackson doesn’t think before speaking, the words slipping out in a way that means he _needs_ to talk about it, even if he doesn’t want to. It wasn’t even fully a conscious thought before he said it, but now that the words are out, Jackson can’t stop thinking it.

Danny stops, his shirt half off, perfect abs revealed right in front of Jackson’s nose. As Jackson watches, the edge of the shirt slowly lowers, covering all that skin. Jackson looks up from where he sits on the edge of the bed to see Danny watching him in return.

“I don’t think of you that way,” Danny says, expression kind but apologetic.

Jackson throws a half-hearted punch and rolls his eyes. He rubs at his neck and sees Danny’s gaze shift to that spot as well. He can tell when Danny notes the red blotch there, the shape of teeth marking Jackson’s throat, and a slow flush stains his skin. “This isn’t about you,” Jackson says. “But you’re also the only guy I can talk to who might get it.”

Danny is also Jackson’s only real friend. There’s Lydia, but he can’t talk to Lydia about _this_. And Jackson has pack mates, but they certainly aren’t _friends_ , not like Danny, who’s been there since Jackson and he were in kindergarten together. Jackson listened years before when Danny first came out, all matter-of-fact like it didn’t matter (and it didn’t). Jackson figures Danny will do the same for him.

So when Danny sits down on the bed and just waits, Jackson starts talking. He tells him everything, from the way Derek smelled to the way he had him up against the wall and the way Jackson completely lost control and became boneless. To the way, when he thinks about it later, he felt like he was in the right place for the first time ever.

At the end of the story, Jackson feels drained and Danny is silent for a long, long time.

Finally Danny nudges Jackson with his elbow. “So you’re gay. So what? Don’t you think it might be a bit more important that you just told me that you’re a werewolf?”

Jackson’s eyes widen, and just like that he starts to laugh. The supernatural drama has been a part of his life for so long that he’s forgotten how odd and unusual it is, and he has forgotten that Danny has no idea. The storytelling begins again, all over from the beginning, as Jackson tells Danny _everything_ , and for the first time, Jackson finds delight in what he has become. Sharing it with someone who actually seems to care makes a difference.

It makes Jackson believe that he can make this thing with the pack work.

#

Jackson stands on the porch of Derek Hale’s new house. It is in the suburbs, small and pale green, with flowers lining the walkway. Flowers. Jackson inhales the sweet scent of summer blooms, catching the depth of _wolf_ from somewhere nearby. His nostrils flare, picking out the notes and identifying them. Isaac, who is all simmering anger and need. Boyd, who has a solid depth to him, like every scent is a bass note, ringing deeply and laying a foundation for the pack. Erica, who sings a wild treble, scattered and constantly changing, with vines that intertwine, entangling herself with every other member of the pack.

Jackson gets that about Erica, he really does. He recognizes that need to belong, that instinct to cling. But Jackson won’t _cling_. He wants them to need him, he wants them to put forth the effort to claim him.

He wants Derek Hale to acknowledge him.

Derek’s scent is the strongest, and the only one that seems to be present. More wolf than the others, more rough. The rich scent of loam and earth, wet thunderstorms and the hot flash of lightning. A hint of cinnamon, and an undertone of spicy soap. Jackson inhales and his body tightens, aching. His hands curl into fists.

The door opens, and Derek reaches out, fisting twisting in the collar of Jackson’s shirt as he drags him inside. “Don’t lurk on the porch in good neighborhoods,” Derek growls as the door slams shut behind them, and Jackson is pressed against it.

The shove is gentler this time; Jackson’s head doesn’t bounce against the wood. But he is still pinned by the hard length of Derek’s body, and he still tilts his head back, baring his throat to Derek’s nose and mouth. Teeth scrape, catching him, biting down until Jackson knows there will be fresh imprints. Marked, by Derek. Claimed. Jackson inhales the scent that Derek leaves on his body, leaves against his clothes.

“Do you greet all your wolves like this?” Jackson only thinks after the words are out, and wonders what Derek has done to his mind that he keeps blurting things out. First his confession to Danny, now this. This isn’t Jackson, who generally considers his every action (except when temper is involved). But Derek has undone him, unsettled him.

Derek growls roughly, and those teeth drag along Jackson’s skin until they reach the meat of his shoulder. Again they clench, and Jackson jerks in his grasp. He is hard now, his cock uncomfortable in his jeans. Derek’s thigh presses between Jackson’s legs, and it is all Jackson can do not to rut against him, seeking comfort.

Derek grabs one hand, then the other, drawing them both up over Jackson’s head, pinning them there against the wall. The only thing holding Jackson in place now are those hands, the heavy pressure of Derek’s body, and the feel of those teeth moving to his throat. The softest part of his throat, right at the front, below his adam’s apple. A tongue flicks out, tasting him, and Jackson jerks in Derek’s grasp, wanting to flee and get closer at the same time. Derek’s mouth bites a path back up the other side until it closes over Jackson’s pulse, which flutters in response, heart pounding hard in his chest. A soft growl, low and possessive. Jackson can’t breathe as those teeth grab, tugging, proving that Jackson is submissive to his Alpha. Derek could rip his throat out, and Jackson would let him. Jackson moans as Derek soothes the bite with his tongue, then rubs his cheek against Jackson’s skin in a haze of stubble burn and rich scent.

There is a slam of a door and Derek jerks away, glaring at Jackson.

Jackson still feels pinned, his hands over his head, stuck to the wall as if still held there. His fingers buzz as he lowers them slowly, rubbing at his wrists to make the blood flow once more.

The house is filled with noise and joyous puppy scents as the pack floods in some back door to the house, accompanied by Stiles, Scott and Allison. There is a flurry of banging in the kitchen, the fridge raided, cabinets opened and plates found. Jackson smells Chinese food, pizza, wings, and a meatball sub.

Stiles pokes his head in the doorway and stops there, blinking. “Dinner’s here,” he finally says. “Enough to feed either three armies or at least five hungry werewolves and a couple of humans. We can stretch it if Jackson’s staying.”

Neither Jackson nor Derek move. Jackson can’t see Derek’s face, but he can feel the weight of the glare he gives Stiles in the heavy scent of the room.

“Or it can wait until you two are done sniffing each other’s tails,” Stiles says with a shrug. “No skin off my back but I should warn you, Derek, that Isaac was nosing around your meatball sub the whole way back and even though I did get two just in case, you might want to claim it before it’s gone.”

Derek wasn’t sniffing Jackson’s _tail_ , but Jackson feels the new tension in the room as sharply as if Derek had shoved his nose into his crotch.

Jackson has the odd urge to do exactly that, drop to his knees and nuzzle Derek, tasting his scent and pleasing his Alpha. He wants to be petted, complimented, told he is exactly what his Alpha needs. The wolf needs the wolf, and the man wants the man. This is his place.

Derek doesn’t look convinced.

Stiles is gone and Derek stares at Jackson. Long moments of silence pass before Derek turns away. “Food’s in the kitchen,” he growls. “You can stay.”

If Jackson did have a tail, it would be wagging. He follows Derek.

He has a feeling he will always follow Derek.

#

The pack sleeps in the finished basement of the new house: Erica, Boyd, and Isaac, all sprawled together on a pullout couch that has seen better days. The first time Jackson is still there when the movie of the night ends, he is separate, lying on a recliner, his feet up and arms behind his head. Derek unfolds himself from the chair where he sits alone and looks at the betas, then at Jackson. He snorts once, then walks out, turning off the light as he goes.

Jackson takes this as permission to stay and curls up in the recliner. It is the most uncomfortable place he has ever slept and yet it is the most restful night he can remember in recent months, surrounded by the scent of pack and Alpha.

The next time Jackson is still there late, when Derek stands Erica wiggles to make more space on the bed. Derek stops and watches as Jackson tries to figure out what this means. Erica pats the empty spot, and Jackson unfolds himself slowly to join them. Arms and legs move until Jackson becomes a part of the pile, uncertain where he ends and where the rest of the pack begins. Erica’s hand rests against his chest, and he can feel Boyd’s strength at his back. Legs are intertwined with Jackson’s, and he thinks they might be Isaac’s, or Erica’s or both.

It isn’t sexual, but it does feel amazing. And right.

Derek growls, and Jackson is surprised at the sudden scent of hot anger. He twists to look up, to ask what he has done wrong, but the door slams and Derek is already gone. Jackson is tense and uncertain, but he feels Isaac’s touch, then Erica’s, and pleasant lassitude slips into his bones. He can still catch the fading scent of fury, though, and it invades his dreams. Jackson sleeps deeply, trapped inside unsettling dreams of being grabbed from the warmth of the pack and dragged away. He dreams of teeth at his neck, rough and sharp, nipping until he whines his submission. He dreams of a body stretched over him, holding him down, waiting until he relaxes.

He dreams of falling into a sweet abyss of letting go, of trust and completion.

He wakes in a bed he doesn’t recognize, and his nostrils flare as he catches Derek’s scent. Strong and musky, heavy and thick. Jackson knows he shouldn’t, but he can’t resist. His rolls over and presses his face into the pillow, letting Derek’s scent fill him as his hips move. He ruts against the sheets, rubbing his hard cock against the bed as his fingers dig into the pillowcase. His hips lift, begging for something he doesn’t understand, then he presses down again and pushes himself into the bed, wanting more. Every whiff of Derek makes him harder, makes him groan loudly.

When he comes, he can imagine Derek being there with him. He burrows beneath the sheets, wrapping himself in their mixed scents, breathing easily as he falls back into the darkness and rests.

#

It becomes a habit. Jackson spends his summer evenings with the pack in the basement. When the time comes to sleep, he gets up and leaves with Derek while the pack curl into their pile on the bed.

Derek never asks, and Jackson never comments on it. It just is.

Jackson strips in silence, leaving clothes by the wayside. The scent is stronger when they are pressed skin to skin, Derek curled around Jackson’s back, his nose pressed into Jackson’s shoulder. Sometimes teeth close over skin, and Jackson is left marked again, but most often it seems as if Derek just wants to inhale him. Breathe him in as if he needs that air. And Jackson doesn’t mind, because he feels right here, where their scents blend into something that is unique, neither Jackson nor Derek, but both of them.

They don’t talk about it. If the rest of the pack thinks about it, they stay silent as well. It isn’t something that anyone _notices_ , not enough to make it obvious. When the words threaten to spill out, Jackson holds back and saves them for Danny, where he tries to get the point across about how good it feels to just _be_.

Danny doesn’t understand, but he shrugs and chalks it up to pack dynamics. Perhaps that’s it, Jackson isn’t sure.

It’s all perfect until the night that Derek veers off on the way to the room, slipping into the bathroom and closing the door before Jackson quite notices that something has changed. The routine is different. Broken. Jackson doesn’t know if he should continue or stop. Stay or go. He hesitates, then resolutely walks down the hall to Derek’s room and strips, tossing his clothes to one side. He stands at the window, letting the night air wash over him as he looks out over the small yard. August is slipping away and September will be here soon, bringing the routine of school with it and potentially tighter restrictions from his parents, who had yet to notice that Jackson has hardly been home all summer.

He smells Derek and starts to turn, but he is pushed against the window, hands lifted high over his head as Derek’s teeth nip him sharply. Jackson inhales roughly, breath shuddering out as his entire body _wakes_ and _wants_. The glass is cold against his skin, but Derek is leaning against Jackson’s hip and there is nowhere else for him to go. The cold glass feels good against his heavy, heated cock, letting him think past the sudden haze of need that is rising in his own scent.

“Hold on.” Derek places Jackson’s hands over the curtain rod and Jackson grips it tightly, clinging to it as his body sways. He feels something around his throat, and there is a flare of panic as whatever it is tightens, pulled roughly to a point where Jackson coughs.

“Shh.” Teeth on his ear, nipping, and Jackson tries to breathe through the panic.

The thing at his throat loosens, settling in at a comfortable space. Surrounding him. The sweet taste of leather with Derek infused in every note. Jackson tastes musk on the scent, and desire. He tastes arousal and need. And it is against his skin, mixing with his own hunger until Jackson whines, low in his throat.

Derek shifts until his cock slides between the cheeks of Jackson’s ass, and hands slide over Jackson’s hips, down to stroke his hard length. Jackson shivers as scents rise, and he groans, thrusting forward into that hand, and back against the ridge of Derek’s arousal.

“You are my wolf,” Derek murmurs, a low growl underlining his words. “My wolf, and no one else’s. You are not pack.”

Scent brings images flooding into Jackson’s mind. He is not the same as Eric, as Boyd, as Isaac. He is not a part of them. He doesn’t belong there, he belongs here, shivering in need and want as those fingers stroke him from root to tip, rolling roughly over the head of his cock.

“What am I?” Jackson whispers, because that is all he has ever wanted to know. He has never properly been a child, a friend, a boyfriend. He has never been pack. He has never belonged.

Teeth on his neck, biting hard. Claiming, as Derek’s hand moves faster and faster, and Jackson can’t control himself. He rolls his hips, reaching, seeking completion. There is a low rumble from Derek, a flare of _possession_ in his scent, and Derek growls, “ _Mine_. You are _mine_.”

Jackson’s orgasm shocks him, leaving him shaking with its intensity. Fluids drip down the cold window, leaving trails in their wake as Jackson slumps back into Derek’s arms. Derek is the only thing that keeps him from falling as his knees go weak, and he leans there, surrounded by his Alpha, enjoying the soft whispers of _good boy_.

When he comes back to himself, Jackson pushes gently at Derek, managing to turn in his arms and lower himself to his knees. He comes face to face with Derek’s cock, thick and filled with his scent. Jackson leans in, rubbing his cheek against the hard length, nuzzling him, inhaling him. He could do this all night, but nuzzling alone wouldn’t _please_ Derek, and right now Jackson wants to catch that scent of surprise and pleasure, those notes that mean that Derek is set and right within the world.

He begins with Derek’s balls. Jackson has no idea what he is doing; he follows the scent that draws him in, and the scent is strongest there, closest to the warmth of Derek’s body. He draws one ball into his mouth, tasting sweat and _Derek_ , and he rolls it around in the warmth like he might cradle his own balls in his hand. Only _more_ as he sucks on it, then lets it slip out so he can capture the other one. His nose is pressed at the root of Derek’s cock, and that soft skin rubs against Jackson’s cheek. His hands grip Derek’s thighs, balancing himself here.

When Derek groans, Jackson feels it vibrating through him.

Hands fall to the top of Jackson’s head, fingers threading into his short hair. There are words, somewhere, but Jackson is beyond listening to human sounds. What he wants are the growls, the possessive snarls, the low hum and rumble of pleasure. He wants the thick flush of musk that erupts over his taste buds when he touches the tip of his tongue to the slit in Derek’s cock and tastes the drop forming there. Jackson wants the warmth of Derek’s skin and the rush of bright pleasure in his scent when Jackson finally takes him in, choking slightly as he somehow manages to capture him to the root.

 _Good boy good boy goodboy_.

They are words, but they are scent as well. Pack. Alpha. Jackson moans, and swallows Derek, memorizing this scent and pleasing him, wanting to know that he is doing what his Alpha wants. That he is what his Alpha needs, more than anything.

When Derek loses control and thrusts too hard, Jackson fights against choking and accepts it as his eyes water. Bitter fluid floods his senses, and Jackson drinks Derek down. He lets him go so he can breathe, and the last spurts paint Derek’s essence over Jackson’s chest, mixing with his own sweat.

Then Derek is on his knees in front of him, one hand pressed against that fluid, painting it over Jackson’s heart. Jackson can see _everything_ , his pupils blown wide in the dim light of the room, taking in every small motion and the way Derek’s mouth quirks slightly at the corners. He hears that he is good, that he is right, that he is where he belongs and that this is the only place possible for him to be. 

Jackson is gathered up and helped into bed. Derek spoons behind him, and Jackson falls asleep amidst a scent of sated hunger and approval.

#

In the morning, Derek is gone. A clean towel is slung over the back of a chair, and a small pile of clean clothes wait for Jackson. The room is still filled with their mixed scents, and for a long moment, Jackson lies there and just inhales it, not wanting to leave.

When he finally does pull himself from the bed, he catches sight of himself in the mirror mounted over Derek’s bureau. Jackson reaches up and touches the strip of leather that surrounds his neck, settled at the base of his throat, clasped at the back. He breathes easily when he does, tension slipping from his bones.

All Jackson has ever wanted is to belong.

And now he does.

He belongs to the pack, but even more importantly, he belongs to Derek Hale.

He _belongs_.


End file.
